


Made for You

by oyhumbug



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drama, F/M, Romance, alternative history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-26
Updated: 2007-10-26
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1458403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyhumbug/pseuds/oyhumbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of executing a hit, Jason realizes just how much Elizabeth really means to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made for You

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on fanfiction.net, LJ (oy_humbug2), my own site (Delicious Infatuation), and Liason message boards.

 

**Made For You**

 

_All of these lines across my face_  
 _Tell you the story of who I am_  
 _So many stories of where I've been_  
 _And how I got to where I am_  
 _But these stories don't mean anything_  
 _When you've got no one to tell them to  
_ _It's true… I was made for you_

There was nothing that made a man more reflective than sitting in the back of a chauffeured limousine when he was on his way to perform an execution. At least, there wasn't for Jason Morgan, mob enforcer, hit man, father. The only sound that filled the night was the steady, almost hypnotizing rhythm of the car's tires against the asphalt of the highway, so he was left with his own thoughts, and, oddly enough, they were comforting.

What he was about to do that night, it was necessary. If he wanted his son to survive him and live on to have a family of his own one day, Jason needed to make sure he lived in a world that was safe and free from the danger his mere presence brought to the innocent baby's existence. So, knowing what he needed to do, here he was, going against his boss' wishes and preparing to end a mob war before it could really begin. Before the night was over, Anthony Zacchara and Trevor Lansing would be mere memories, and Elizabeth and her children, _their children_ , would be protected, even if he had to sacrifice his own life to make sure of it.

Compared to the average man, he had lived a relatively short life, but, for an enforcer, he had been through and experienced more than he probably deserved. He had traveled the world, found peace and tranquility in lands so rich with history, one could study the cultures and never know everything they had to offer, he had been loved and, more importantly, had given love unconditionally, he had helped raise and protect his friend's children and had created a tiny, perfect life with the woman he loved, and he had seen the wind on the back of a motorcycle with a girl whose innocence and graced had saved his soul more times than he could ever count or reciprocate. The only thing he had left to do was to simply be – to retire, get married, and raise his children with a certain blue eyed nurse he had given his heart to so many years before without even realizing it. But, first, he had one last job to do.

The plan was simple – get in, get out, and go home, but, if something went wrong, he was prepared to go down in the battle. No matter what, when the dust settled and the smoke cleared, he would finish the job one way or another. If he was going to make it out of this one last, final battle, he was going to be able to go back to his family without any threats hanging over his head. Then and only then would he ask Elizabeth to marry him, to give him the chance to show her that the light really was different in Italy, to leave Port Charles with him so they could raise their children while traveling around the world, teaching them far more than any classroom ever could. After all, he had enough money that they would never have to work again, and it was damn time that he started to enjoy the simple pleasures of life…with the woman he loved by his side.

As they neared their destination, he started to mentally prepare himself for what was to come. First, he checked both of his guns, made sure they were fully loaded and ready to be fired. The glocks had each been methodically cleaned and prepped the night before, the action, by that point, rote, was calming as Jason thought out each step of his attack. The pockets of his leather jacket were lined with extra clips, he had knives strapped to each of his ankles, and his head was clear of all doubts and nagging reservations. This was right, this was necessary, and this was the end one way or another. The realization was oddly soothing.

As ready as he would ever be, the enforcer sat back and relaxed into the shadows of the limo's dark interior. Miles stretched by, the distance between Port Charles and Crimson Point being diminished with every second that passed. With a sigh of ease, he glanced at the tinted, bulletproof windows despite already knowing he wouldn't be able to see outside. If there was one thing he did not like about riding in a car, it was the separation he felt from the natural elements. A man of his position needed to always be aware of his surroundings, and an armored vehicle did not afford him such a luxury. Instead of seeing the bare trees of late fall and the desolate woods he would have been surrounded by if on his motorcycle, Jason saw his own face reflected back at him, a face filled with lines that bore the memory of old concerns, scars of past battles, and an essence, perhaps unfounded, of hope.

All together, his countenance told a story, the story of his life, and he was reassured with the knowledge that even if he did not return home to his son that night, the mother of his only child would have those lines learned by heart and would be able to share the story they told with their infant son. Finally, he belonged somewhere, had found a home in someone's heart, and, no matter what, would live on forever there. Could a man ask for anything more?

"Jason," Max's voiced came through the intercom, jarring the silent enforcer from his reflective thoughts. "We're here."

As per his request, the guard did not put down the limo's dividing window, for isolation was needed to be maintained so that Jason could do what was required of him. Max had agreed with the hit man, had gone against their boss to help him plan his attack, and the stoic bodyguard who would gladly lay his life down for any of Jason's loved ones knew his friend did not need to hear any other words in that moment; what was needed of him, he had already done. He had gotten the enforcer to the Zacchara compound without being detected, and now it was the new father's turn to carry out his end of the plan. There was no doubt in either man's mind that Jason would do just that.

Opening the door of the limousine himself, the Corinthos organization's second in command set one foot down upon the pavement at a time, his actions silent and deadly. As soon as the November breeze assaulted his exposed skin, its strength blowing his long hair away from his face, he knew the weather had shifted. It was about to snow; he could smell it on the wind, and, sure enough, just as the car had pulled away from his position by the side of the road a half mile away from the walled in mansion that was his intended target, the pure, white flakes began to fall from the midnight blue sky, a dark, rich blue that reminded him of the color of Elizabeth's eyes.

In fact, everything about that night reminded the enforcer of the woman he loved. She had always smelled like snow, or maybe it had been the other way around, and the crystallized moisture had smelled like her, clean and untouched by the evil that surrounded his lifestyle. The stillness of the night could only be compared to the calm he had found in his moments with Elizabeth at the old abandoned bridge during the years when they were more than friends, and even the name of the town he was in that night, Crimson Point, made him think of the mother of his son, for he had given her a piece of crimson glass from Italy, and, together, they had gone to Vista Point a countless amount of times. Having her near him, feeling her surrounding him as he made his way towards his enemies, gave Jason a sense of confidence he had never experience before; the unwavering support she had shown him throughout the years they had known each other, the love that shined through her eyes whenever he entered the room, and the gift she had given him by carrying his child bolstered his determination and hasted his steps. He had just one last hit left in his career, just one more night of returning to her with blood on his hands, and then it would be over, and they would be able to move on, all four of them, as a family.

And all it would take was a matter of minutes.

_I climbed across the mountain tops_  
 _Swam all across the ocean blue_  
 _I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules_  
 _But baby I broke them all for you_  
 _Oh because even when I was flat broke_  
 _You made me feel like a million bucks_  
 _You do and I was made for you_

The lawyer had been easy to take care of, too easy almost, but Jason knew it was Trevor Lansing's arrogance that made him sit in the dark library in an otherwise abandoned part of the large and stately house, open and vulnerable. For years, the attorney had been running the Zacchara organization from the shadows, making all the decisions, reaping all the rewards, but suffering none of the consequences. That had ended with one practiced and skilled shot to the center of his forehead. The silencer on his gun had concealed the repercussions of the semi-automatic, and the victim had died instantly, quietly, secretly.

One down; one to go.

The old man had proved more difficult than his trusted employee. Secured away in the study where the enforcer had expected to find him, the insane mob boss had been guarded by several bodyguards, all of whom had to be disposed of before he could move on and eliminate Anthony. It had been obvious that the men had grown complacent in their positions, for their reactions to his presence had been delayed, and they had each fallen, one by one, just as he planned for them to.

No, where the real threat had erupted had been inside the dark and chillingly ominous office. Blindly, perhaps even over-confidently, Jason had kicked open the double doors, firing just one round in the direction of where the old man sat at his desk. The bullet pierced through his right eye, inches off from the enforcer's target but still effective, and, just like the four men who had died mere moments before him, the eldest Zacchara succumbed to death instantly.

It was finished; the job had been taken care of, and the new father could return to those he loved the most. Dropping his unmarked guns on his way out the door, his leather gloves having kept his finger prints off the murder weapons, he went to leave, finally, for the first time since his son was born, capable of taking a deep breath.

In that one action, he had made his first two and only two mistakes of the night, and he would pay dearly for them.

A shot rang out, then a second, and then a whole clip was discharged in his direction, each round entering into his body from behind. Instant, blinding, terrifying pain shot through his form, making the enforcer crumble and fall to his knees, a bright, _crimson_ pool of blood already forming beneath him. In an effort to see who had shot him, he twisted his body around to land on his side, practically using his entire reserve of strength in that one, simple movement. There before him stood Johnny Zacchara, the troubled heir of the New York mob family's fortune, a gun in his right hand down by his side. Jason could tell by the look on the younger man's face that he had fired first and thought second, shooting him before he realized just who his father's executioner had been, and was now in shock.

With minimal effort, he could have reached for his gun which was within his fingers' grasp, but there had been enough death for one night. Maybe it was the father in him that wanted to believe Johnny Zacchara would be able to leave his family's history in the past where it belonged and go off on his own to live a healthy life away from crime, perhaps, after all the changes that had occurred during the past year, he was no longer able to injure someone else's son, or, yet, it simply could have been that he was sick and tired of all the killing.

As the minutes ticked by, they both remained transfixed, neither moving. Eventually, the kid dropped his gun and sank down to sit on the floor, leaning back against his father's desk, his head cradled in his hands as he rocked back and forth all in a vain attempt to block out Jason's bleeding form before him. As he felt himself become weaker and weaker, the now officially retired enforcer, though no one knew of his decision yet, waited for Max to come and find them. If anything went wrong and he didn't make it make back outside in the designated amount of time, the two men had agreed upon the Italian bodyguard coming after him, and it was only a matter of time before the burly, younger man found him.

Max saw him before Jason saw his friend, and the guard instantly raised his gun to fire at Johnny Zacchara.

"No," the former hit man managed to whisper. Despite the low volume of his raspy voice, the one word carried enough gravity to prevent another murder. "He…" Every syllable was a struggle, wasted breath that should have been saved for more important things. "…didn't mean to. Accident."

"Jason," Max counted quickly, "you have nine bullet holes in you. How the hell is that an accident? Never mind," the guard quickly dismissed his own question. "Right now, it doesn't matter. I've got to call Mr. Corinthos."

"Please," the new father begged of his friend, "don't call Sonny. I want…" He had to pause long enough to cough up some blood. "I need Elizabeth."

"She can't come here; she can't see this!"

"You don't understand," he managed to somehow raise his voice and infuse a note of urgency in his tone that he had never felt before. "There's something I have to tell her, and I can't be moved." When the bodyguard went to argue again, Jason hardened his face and reached down inside of himself for an anger he no longer felt. "Just do what I tell you to do, Max!" The Italian started to nod his head, but he still wasn't moving. "Now!"

As soon as his friend stood to reach for his cell phone, he felt his eyes drift shut as an almost coma like stillness overcame him. Until Elizabeth got there, he had to do whatever he could to save his strength, and, knowing that the woman he loved was already on the way, he knew he would wait for as long as it took. After all, he would do anything for her.

_You see the smile that's on my mouth_  
 _It's hiding the words that don't come out_  
 _And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed_  
 _They don't know my head is a mess_  
 _No, they don't know who I really am_  
 _And they don't know what I've been through like you do_  
 _And I was made for you._

The next thing he knew, Elizabeth was there at his side, one warm hand smoothing the hair away from his clammy forehead while the other cradled his jaw. "Hey," she greeted him, smiling softly though the gesture never quite made it to her eyes, to her wide, terror stricken, tear filled eyes.

"I love you," he murmured, turning his face just enough to whisper a kiss against the smooth silk of her wrist.

Lowering her face towards his, she brushed her lips across his pale, quivering mouth, lingering there long enough for Jason to taste her one last time. "I love you, too," she returned, never once letting herself cry.

He was so proud of her in that moment. Never had he known a woman with more courage or compassion. She was brave yet allowed him to protect her, smart, and she made him laugh. She was a tender lover, an amazing mother, and so beautiful just the mere sight of her made his heart beat faster. She and her children were everything to him, and he had never gotten the chance to show or even tell her just how much he cared.

"Always you," he confessed, speaking so softly she had to tilt her head and press her ear close to his mouth.

"What?"

"It was always you."

"Jason?"

"Tell the boys…"

"I will," she pledged, picking up his right hand and holding it in both of her smaller, delicate ones, kissed his blood stained knuckles, and brought his palm to rest against her heart. "I'll tell them about the man who saved me on a night when I didn't even know I needed saving, about the man who helped me see the world through his eyes as he told me about his travels, about the man who gave me the wind. I'll tell them everything about you, Jason. Jake will know his father, and Cam will grow up hearing stories of his mother's best friend, of the man his mother loved more than she could ever say."

"And tell them," he asked of her just one more thing. "Tell them that I was made for you."

Though his eyes closed for the last time, he heard her promise, her voice strong and certain to the very end. In all the ways he had imagined dying, Jason Morgan never thought he'd get the opportunity to make peace with his life, but Elizabeth had given that to him as her final gift, and, as his last breath passed through his lips, he died with a smile upon his face.

_All of these lines across my face_  
 _Tell you the story of who I am_  
 _So many stories of where I've been_  
 _And how I got to where I am_  
 _But these stories don't mean anything_  
 _When you've got no one to tell them to_  
 _It's true...I was made for you_

"Max," Elizabeth stood up from beside the man she loved and turned to face the silent guard. She refused to cry in front of anyone else. If she let herself become lost in her grief and sorrow, she'd never make it home to her children, and they needed her just as much as she suddenly needed to be with them. "I want you to make it seem as if Jason was never here tonight." She glanced to the still rocking young man on the other side of the room before turning back to the bodyguard. "Do whatever you have to, but I don't want this to be blamed on Jason. I need you to help me protect my sons from this world one last time, and, to do that, they can never know about how their father died."

With that, she walked out of the study that smelled like death, made her way back through the eerie Zacchara compound, and approached her car for the drive back home that awaited her. Before she left though, she paused long enough to look up at the sky, the now heavily falling snow fluttering down around her and landing on her hair and shoulders. "I was made for you, too, Jason," she whispered. "We were made for each other."

It wasn't goodbye; she wasn't ready to say those words yet to the man she loved, but it was enough to help her leave him behind and return to her children. After all, that's what Jason would have wanted her to do, and, for the moment, that was all that mattered.

_Oh yeah, it's true... that I was made for you_

**Author's Note:**

> Song Featured in this Story: "The Story" by Brandi Carlile


End file.
